


All The Same

by guitarshark



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Edging, Friends to Lovers, Geralt is a butt and needs to be nicer to his best friend, Grad Student AU, Jaskier is a drama!bi, M/M, Soft Dom Jaskier, Undernegotiated Kink, Yenn is fed up and has better things to do, geralt is bad at feelings, they are In Love and also been Having Sex and have not been Talking About It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23554141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guitarshark/pseuds/guitarshark
Summary: Geralt's been having a shit week. His best friend has been ignoring him, suddenly all the undergrads hate him, and no one will tell him what's going on.OrGeralt and Jaskier are both Big Men on Campus. Geralt is a bad friend, and Jaskier won't let him apologize.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 498





	All The Same

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second fic I've ever written but I couldn't stop thinking about all of them being tired and fed up grad students so here goes nothing

This has been getting out of hand.

Look. Geralt knows he’s never exactly been the most popular man on campus. Between his appearance as an intimidating six-foot something witcher with long white hair and a frequent scowl, and his reputation as a harsh grader and dry lecturer, most people know to stay clear of him.

The past few days, the usual avoidance has become something that is, quite frankly, bordering on hostile.

There’s a boy he doesn’t recognize glaring at him from a few tables away as Geralt sets his tray of food down next to Triss. He frowns, and does his best to ignore him.

“Have you heard from Jaskier? He hasn’t been answering my texts.”

Triss looks up from her book. She exchanges a look with Yennefer, who’s seated herself across from them.

“Yeah. He’s, uh. Doing okay, I think?”

Yenn snorts, and reaches over to steal a fry from Geralt’s plate.

“He’s avoiding you, idiot. Can’t you go a week without pissing off your boyfriend?”

Geralt swats at her hand as she reaches for another fry. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“He must be pretty upset if he’s giving you the silent treatment.” Triss takes advantage of Geralt’s momentary distraction to steal a fry herself. “Usually when he’s mad at you, he pouts very loudly in your direction until you apologize.”

“Yeah, well,” Geralt scoots his tray away from them. “I may have said something unkind to him. But I can’t apologize to him if he keeps avoiding me.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes.

“Have you considered,” Triss says carefully, “Not saying mean shit so you don’t have to keep apologizing?”

Geralt has, of course, considered this.

It’s just. This is how their relationship has been since Jaskier had decided they were friends years ago. Sometimes Geralt says things just on the wrong side of too cruel. But he apologizes, Jaskier forgives him, and they move on.

Jaskier has never ignored him for this long before.

“If you really want to talk to him, I heard he’s got another gig on Friday at the Golden Sturgeon,” Yenn tells him between delicate bites of her salad.

Triss unsubtly kicks Yennefer under the table.

Yennefer looks unbothered, shrugging. “He’s not going to be able to avoid him forever.”

Geralt nods his thanks. Triss sighs, shaking her head.

“I really think you should give him space, Geralt. He’s pretty unhappy with you.”

Geralt narrows his eyes at her. “Has he said something to you?”

Triss grimaces. “Well, no. Not directly. But he hasn’t exactly been keeping it to himself.”

Someone violently jostles Geralt as they pass his chair. When Geralt turns, he gets a nasty look in return from a complete and utter stranger.

“What the fuck.”

Yenn snorts at him. Triss sighs again and turns back to her book.

_______

 **Geralt** : Can we talk?  
 **Geralt** : You free for dinner?

_______

Geralt has a standing monthly meeting with his advisor. After last week’s disaster of a hunt, Geralt wasn’t looking forward to this conversation with Vesemir.

Vesemir sits silently, listening to Geralt explain himself.

Then he hums, and tells Geralt to take him through it, step by step. Every mistake he made is dissected and criticized.

The failure to identify the plumage patterns unique to archgriffins, his not bothering to pack any Bindweed for poison resistance, his overreliance on Igni resulting in him being woefully unprepared to fight a creature with immunity to flames.

It’s agonizing.

By the end of the conversation, Geralt is a better witcher for it.

After a discussion with Vesemir, things always seem more manageable. Geralt feels chastised, but breathes a little bit easier for the first time in days.

When they’re done, Vesemir walks him to the door of his office. Clapping him on the shoulder, he asks, “Where’s your bard? Haven’t seen him around recently.”

Geralt flinches.

The halls of Kaer Morhen have been noticeably quieter the past few days.

Geralt is saved from answering by Eskel, who conveniently appears in their advisor’s doorway at that moment.

“Hey Vesemir,” he says easily. “Got a minute? We just got in a new Katakan specimen, and I think you may want to take a look.”

Geralt is dismissed, though not before Eskel clasps him on the shoulder and leans over to whisper in his ear, “Work out your shit, brother.”

_______

 **Geralt** : You can’t ignore me forever, Jaskier  
 **Jaskier** : i absolutely can.  
 **Geralt** : I’m coming over  
 **Jaskier** : fuck u shithead  
 **Jaskier** : i’m not even home so dont bother  
 **Geralt** : Where are you?  
 **Geralt** : Jaskier.

_______

Geralt’s classes have a reputation as being difficult, yet every semester, there’s always a handful of undergrads interested enough in his work to take his class on Monster Physiology.

(Jaskier has stated on numerous occasions that he thinks the students are less interested in the study of monsters and creatures than they are in the opportunity to ogle an attractive witcher three times a week. Geralt has never once dignified this with a response.)

Today, Geralt’s class seems particularly uninterested in learning the distinctions between species of draconids.

There are three girls in the fourth row who have been whispering throughout his lecture. A student behind them keeps glaring at him, and Geralt swears there are a few students sitting in the back of the lecture hall that aren’t registered for this class at all. Even the undergrads sitting in the front, normally attentive and furiously scribbling down his every word, have displeased expressions on their faces.

All in all, it’s starting to make his head hurt.

Geralt makes it halfway through the class before the whispers break through his concentration,

“—it was definitely about him. And no one’s seen them together for like, a week. I heard he was getting back together with that sorceress—”

Geralt rubs a hand over his face with a sigh.

“I’d like to remind all of you that I have magically enhanced hearing.” The whispers pause. “If you’re going to gossip, keep it outside of my class.”

Some of them have the decency to look chagrined.

A brunette sitting in a middle row — and she’s definitely not one of his students — boldly raises her hand. Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“What’s the deal with you and Jaskier? Did you guys break up?”

There is a pregnant pause.

Geralt can literally hear the entire class shift towards the edge of their seats.

“What.”

“Did you and Jaskier—”

“No, I heard you.” The throbbing in Geralt’s head intensifies. “I’m not going to discuss that.”

Another student raises his hand.

Geralt has been told (by Jaskier, primarily) that his glare is enough to frighten the pants off a ghoul. He turns it towards the student, and holds him there for a few moments in silence.

“If this isn’t a question about the difference between basilisks and cockatrices, I’m going to assign everyone in this room an essay on the evolution of flight in draconids.”

The hand goes down.

_______

 **Geralt** : Have you been telling people that we broke up? We’re not even dating  
 **Jaskier** : jfc  
 **Jaskier** : ur such a asshole  
 **Geralt** : Look. I’m really sorry. I just want to talk, ok?  
 **Geralt** : Jaskier?

_______

For all that his best friend is getting a masters in music theory, Geralt has never actually had any cause to visit the Music Department.

That said, there is absolutely no reason his student ID shouldn’t let him in.

When his third attempt to swipe into the building results in another angry, blinking red light, Geralt hums in annoyance. He’s about to try another entrance, when a young blonde woman with a very large instrument strapped to her back pushes past him.

Geralt recognizes her, vaguely, as a friend of Jaskier’s. (Pamela? Patricia?)

As she swipes her own ID badge and the door clicks open, she turns to icily say over her shoulder, “The department chair had your access to the building revoked. You’re not allowed inside.”

She closes the door in his face behind her.

“Fuck.”

When he brings it up with Mousesack later over lunch, his friend laughs.

“You’re not the most popular over there right now, Geralt.”

Geralt glares at him over his food.

Mousesack shrugs. “Apologize to him. I’m not sure how much more of this your reputation can withstand.”

Geralt grits his teeth. “I can’t. He’s avoiding me.”

Mousesack hums sympathetically. “Well, you’d better work it out for your sake, Geralt. He’s likely working on an album’s worth of scathing songs about you as we speak.”

Geralt silently shoves another spoonful of curry into his mouth.

_______

Geralt is aware that he’s not the most emotionally intelligent person. If centuries of gossip and lore are to be believed, this particular flaw can be attributed to the years of witcher mutagens having dulled his emotions in favor of enhancing his other senses.

Geralt suspects that the majority of it can be attributed to his own failed emotional development.

Regardless, he knows there’s a lot he misses with regards to the feelings of others. He’s become used to having Jaskier around to smooth over the rough edges, to interpret his hums into actual conversation, and to make amends on his behalf when he missteps and offends the wrong person.

It makes things trickier when Jaskier himself is the problem.

Alright. Here’s what Geralt knows.

He is relatively certain that for all everyone refers to Jaskier as his boyfriend, they’re not actually dating. Geralt is confident that he would have noticed if they were.

Jaskier is his best friend. They get dinner together most nights, like friends do. They hang out on campus, and at each others’ apartments. Sometimes they sleep over, when it’s easier than going all the way home at ass-o’clock in the morning.

Geralt goes to see Jaskier perform when he can. Jaskier frequently accompanies him on his field work missions.

And, okay. They’ve had sex more than once. And each time it’s been.

Well.

Really, really good. Like, astonishingly good. For someone who complains about being allergic to exercise, Jaskier’s stamina is shockingly robust after several rounds of very physical fuckings, only surpassed by his enthusiasm.

They’ve never talked about it, and it’s never been weird. They just have incredible sex on occasion. And afterwards they spend the night sharing a bed, but they do that anyways.

So Geralt is pretty sure he and Jaskier aren’t dating.

Doesn’t change the fact that everyone (including Jaskier) is acting like they’re in the middle of a bad breakup. And that the unpleasant clench in Geralt’s stomach when he remembers what he said to Jaskier a week ago feels something like heartbreak.

Anyways.

_______

Geralt didn’t ask Yenn or Triss to come with him to the Golden Sturgeon, but by nine on Friday, both of them have joined him at a table towards the back of the bar.

“You’re in for a treat tonight,” their server tells them with a wink as she drops off their drinks. “The kid who’s playing tonight was here on Wednesday. He’s written some really good stuff.”

Geralt hums in response.

He sits there, nursing his beer, while Yenn and Triss gossip about the new sorcerer hired by their department. The seats around them begin to fill, until the noise just starts to grate on Geralt’s hearing.

The bar doesn’t have a stage, but there’s a microphone set up against a wood-paneled wall covered in half-lit signs advertising a variety of beers and ales. The room quiets the instant Jaskier steps out, guitar already slung across his chest, and approaches the microphone.

He looks—

—the same as always, if Geralt’s being honest. His hair is artfully tousled. He’s wearing his favorite blue bomber jacket over a t-shirt with a floral print and dark jeans.

He doesn’t look like he’s had a miserable past six days. He just looks like he always does when he gets ready to perform, all coy smiles and faux-nervous lip biting.

(He told Geralt once that he does this on purpose, that it endears him to his audience. Geralt had been skeptical. Judging by the palpable anticipation in the room, though, this crowd seems ready to eat out of the palm of his hand.)

Jaskier doesn’t bother to introduce himself like he usually does.

He just, takes a deep breath, and starts strumming, pressing in close to the microphone.

At first, his voice is something soft and mournful. Geralt frowns.

By the end of the first chorus, two things have become clear:

One, the entirety of this song has been written in the past week.

Usually, by the time Jaskier is ready to perform something he’s been working on, Geralt has heard the roughest draft and the mostly polished versions. Geralt has spent countless afternoons sitting at a table outside with a textbook while Jaskier works through a chord progression. He’s used to Jaskier trying out melodies hummed under his breath while they eat dinner, to Jaskier muttering lyrics into a voice memo as they walk across campus.

Nothing about this song is familiar.

Second, Jaskier is very angry.

Jaskier’s voice has become something bitter, as he lowly sings lyrics about being in love and being tossed aside, about accepting meaningless apologies time and again. About always returning, despite knowing how he’ll hurt again.

He has never sounded so raw to Geralt’s ears.

The force of his voice alone is enough to have Geralt pressing against the back of his booth, something painful burning in his chest. Not once does Jaskier look their way. Even though Geralt has been itching to see him for the past week, he’s grateful for the privacy.

A final chord fades into a tense silence.

The spell breaks. The applause starts, and increases in volume until the bar is practically collapsing under the weight of the cheers.

Yenn begins to cackle, not with a little cruelty. Triss buries her face in her hands with a groan.

Geralt is silent for about thirty seconds in the raucous noise, before uttering a very quiet, “Fuck.”

_______

Geralt finds Yennefer in the magic library, with one book on pyromancy spread out in front of her and two more stacked to her right.

“I need advice.”

Yennefer looks up at him, and raises an eyebrow. When Geralt doesn’t move, she sighs, and closes her book.

“Sit. What is it.”

Geralt feels foolish, but. There’s no one else who he trusts to give him an answer without bullshit.

“Are Jaskier and I dating?”

Yennefer narrows her eyes at him.

“Yenn, please.” Geralt pulls out the chair across from her. “I feel like I’m missing something important.”

Yennefer leans across the table between them.

“Geralt, you and I were romantically involved for three months. In that time, you abandoned me in the middle of a date no less than four different times because Jaskier got himself in trouble and needed you to go save him.”

She snaps her book closed.

“You’re not an easy person to be friends with, Geralt of Rivia. You make it very difficult for those who try to get close to you. Most of us stop trying after a time.”

Geralt reminds himself that this is why he came to Yennefer.

“Your fool of a bard has been more persistent than most. You can likely guess why that might be. But it turns out that even he has his limits.”

Yennefer stands, picks up her books, and smiles at him sweetly.

“If you idiots can’t work out your shit and keep bothering me with your drama, I will personally set fire to your testicles.”

She sails away in a cloud of lilac and gooseberry perfume.

Geralt sits in silence for a full two minutes, then, “Fuck.”

On his way out of the library, a librarian wordlessly rolls her cart of books over his foot as she passes.

_______

 **Geralt** : I’m coming over  
 **Jaskier** : i’m not home  
 **Jaskier** : also fuck u  
 **Geralt** : Jaskier, I’m standing outside your building. I can hear you in your apartment.  
 **Geralt** : Just let me in

Jaskier doesn’t respond to that text. Evidently, because he’s trying to sneak out onto the fire escape.

Geralt sighs, and walks around to the side of the building.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” he calls up to Jaskier struggling to lower the ladder to the ground.

Jaskier jumps, cursing loudly. He glares down at Geralt.

“Fuck off, Geralt!” he calls down.

And because he can’t let that comment stand by itself,

“It’s very creepy that you can hear me through my walls!”

Then,

“And I know you came to my show last night! I saw you leave after the first song. Which was very rude!”

Jaskier continues to angrily rattle the ladder on the side of the fire escape. He jumps back, startled, when it drops to the ground below.

There’s a split second in which Jaskier realizes that he has just lowered a ladder down to Geralt, who he has been trying to avoid.

Then Jaskier is scrambling to climb back through his window into his apartment.

“Geralt of Rivia, I swear to Melitele’s unshaven cunt, don’t you dare—”

It takes less than ten seconds for Geralt to scale the ladder and pull himself up onto the fire escape. Jaskier has one leg through his window, and is attempting to bend himself in half so he can back the rest of himself inside.

It is a sight so ridiculous and foolish and endearingly _Jaskier_ that Geralt feels something settle in his chest as he looks at him.

 _Ah_ , he thinks. _I missed him._

Which, of course he _knew_ , but there’s a difference between knowing and feeling something slot into place after a week of inexplicably feeling out of sorts.

When Jaskier tumbles backwards into his apartment, Geralt reaches through the window to catch him by the elbow before Jaskier can land on his ass.

Jaskier rights himself, before shaking off Geralt’s hand with a glare.

He half-heartedly attempts to shut his window, though it’s very obviously futile, what with Geralt’s arm already through and the rest of him following. He does succeed in getting Geralt to roll his eyes at him as he squeezes his shoulders into the apartment.

“Jaskier.”

“Ugh!” Jaskier dramatically throws himself onto his couch, flinging an arm over his face. “Gods, can’t you just leave me alone?”

Geralt levels him with a flat look.

“No.”

Jaskier lifts his arm to glare at him.

“Why? Here to tell me to fuck off again? How I’m the worst thing to ever happen to you, how much better off you would be without me? How it’s _my_ fault whenever anything goes wrong?”

It actually stings a fair bit, having his own words thrown back at him. Combined with the venom in Jaskier’s voice, they feel crueler than Geralt remembered them.

“I’m here to apologize.” Geralt gently pushes Jaskier’s legs from where they’re sprawled over the couch, so he can sit next to him. “I would have apologized a week ago if you had let me.”

“Well, I am extremely uninterested in hearing your apologies.” Jaskier replaces his feet onto the couch, putting them directly into Geralt’s lap, as if determined to pretend that Geralt isn’t there at all.

Gods, he _missed_ _him._

“Jaskier, please. You know I didn’t mean—”

All of a sudden, Geralt has a lap full of his angry best friend. Jaskier wraps a hand around the back of Geralt’s neck to pull him into a biting kiss.

Geralt can’t help the hands that land on Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier’s tongue licks into his mouth, those same hands pull Jaskier closer while he lets out a low moan.

Geralt knows Jaskier is trying to distract him from this conversation, he _knows_. But Jaskier’s tongue is as skilled as he remembers, teasing his mouth like it belongs there. It’s so easy to just, pull Jaskier back in, keep kissing him. Get lost in the sensation of slick lips and hands running under his shirt, nails scratching along his back.

It’s been a tough week for Geralt. He can hardly be blamed for melting into Jaskier’s mouth as if no time has passed since they last did this.

No, wait. This is out of order.

Geralt hears Yennefer’s voice in his mind. Knows he can’t afford to fuck this up, so he pulls back.

“We need to talk about this.”

Jaskier huffs out an incredulous laugh at the reversal of their usual positions, and ducks down to bite at the juncture between Geralt’s neck and shoulder. When Geralt lets out a low sound at the sensation, Jaskier’s teeth clamp down harder, then release. He runs his tongue possessively over the new mark there.

“You know, Geralt, everyone’s always saying, ‘that’s Jaskier, the witcher’s friend,’ and ‘oh that’s Geralt’s bard.’”

Jaskier bites up the line of Geralt’s pulse.

“Everyone takes it for granted that I’m _yours_.”

Geralt inhales sharply.

Jaskier’s teeth continue scraping along the edge of his jaw.

“Including me,” Geralt says, hoarsely.

Jaskier pauses for just a moment, before dragging his mouth up to hover just beyond Geralt’s lips. His eyes are serious, half-lidded, watching.

“Including you,” he answers honestly, and takes Geralt’s lip between his teeth.

Fuck.

He has to— has to say this.

Geralt reluctantly pulls Jaskier away again, ignoring his annoyed groan. Geralt presses his forehead to Jaskier’s, looks at him as directly as he knows how.

“You have to know I’m yours, too.”

Jaskier’s returning look is inscrutable.

“Do I?”

“You do,” Geralt says, a little bit desperately. “I know I haven’t been the best— friend— or, whatever—” Jaskier raises an eyebrow at him, but Geralt pushes through, “—but I am yours. However you want me. Have been for years, now.”

Jaskier watches him silently, which is disconcerting in its own right.

He pushes Geralt down until he’s laying flat on the couch, and settles with his legs on either side of Geralt’s thighs. Jaskier gathers Geralt’s wrists in his hands, then, and presses them over Geralt’s head.

“What if I want you like this?” he whispers against Geralt’s mouth. “What if I want to take what I want from you?”

Geralt has been losing the battle with his own arousal since Jaskier climbed onto his lap, and all at once, he feels the last of his resistance crumble. He presses his mouth up into Jaskier’s, kissing him as much as he is permitted.

“Take it,” he says between kisses. “It’s already yours.”

So Jaskier does.

_______

It’s not long before Geralt finds himself naked, lying flat on Jaskier’s bed, with the man himself fully clothed and bent between Geralt’s spread legs.

Jaskier takes his time, kissing and gently biting up one thigh and down the other. He runs his tongue over Geralt’s balls, and gently licks against his hole, before withdrawing back to kiss and tease at his thighs again.

It’s absolute agony.

Geralt can’t stop watching him, how he teeths at his hip bones, mouths at the trail of hair leading down from his navel.

This means Geralt also has a very clear view of his own cock leaking onto his stomach. He’s not sure if he’s ever been this hard in his life.

Jaskier lowers himself to hover directly over the head, then flicks his eyes up towards Geralt as he breathes on it.

Geralt _throbs_ in response, cock bouncing almost within reach of Jaskier’s open mouth.

When Jaskier moves away again to mouth at the inside of Geralt’s thighs again, Geralt can’t help the moan that escapes him.

Jaskier’s eyes don’t stop burning into him as he continues to lick at the muscles there. The ache of Geralt’s cock grows even heavier under his stare, and Geralt can’t help himself.

“ _Jaskier._ ” Geralt hardly recognizes his own voice.

“Hmm,” Jaskier hums against him. He inches upwards again, and runs his tongue so lightly as to barely be touching up from the base of Geralt’s cock. He laps softly at the precum that’s gathered at the tip, then presses a gentle kiss there.

“Tell me what you want, Geralt.”

“You— fuck, I— Jask, _please_.”

This should be embarrassing, Geralt thinks distantly. And if it were anyone else, it likely would be.

But Jaskier’s confidence in this, and the fact that it is _Jaskier_ , has put him at an ease he has never known before with a partner.

So if Jaskier wants to tease him for hours (how long have they been at this? have hours already passed?), Geralt feels helpless but to let him, hands obediently suspended over his head where Jaskier had placed them again.

And if Jaskier wants him desperate, will only touch his cock when he’s begged for it, Geralt can do nothing but give him what he wants.

“Tell me, Geralt,” Jaskier commands in a whisper, eyes never once looking away. “Tell me what you want.” He touches his tongue softly to the ridge along the head of Geralt’s cock, drags it along the edge, then withdraws it again. “Or we can keep doing this all night.”

Geralt exhales at the thought, both unbearable and supremely tempting. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know how to ask for— he wants this to never end, but he needs—

“Would you like me to suck you off, Geralt?”

Fuck.

“ _Yes_ , Jask, please— I need—”

Jaskier doesn’t hesitate. He takes the base of Geralt’s cock gently in his hands, tilting it up to fit just the head in his mouth.

And gods be damned, he just sucks at it, licking at it, holding him there.

The need to drive his cock further into that warm, wet heat is excruciating, but Jaskier’s other hand is holding his hip, pressing it into the bed, and his eyes send him a warning.

Jaskier had told him to _stay_.

So Geralt doesn’t move, just lets Jaskier play with the head of his cock in his mouth. He feels himself leaking onto Jaskier’s tongue, and feels Jaskier swallow it.

Then without warning, Jaskier bends his head further down, and takes most of the rest of Geralt’s cock into his mouth.

His gaze never leaves Geralt.

Jaskier has blown Geralt before, but this is— Jaskier’s usual enthusiasm for sucking him off has been replaced by something careful and restrained. It’s as if every flick of his tongue and slide of his lips along Geralt’s cock is precisely designed to make Geralt lose his fucking mind.

Geralt knows he’s gasping. He can’t look away.

Slowly— so slowly— Jaskier fucks him with his mouth.

When Jaskier begins to move his hand at the base of Geralt’s cock in time with the bobbing of his head, Geralt feels the heat coiling in his stomach begin to reach its apex.

“Fuck— Jaskier, I’m—”

Jaskier immediately pulls off with an obscene, wet noise. His fingers tighten around Geralt.

“Not yet.”

His voice is as solid as the grip around his cock.

Geralt is held captive by the look in Jaskier’s eyes, daring him to disobey.

Jaskier holds him until Geralt’s breathing slows and he drops his head back down onto the bed. Slowly, he releases his hold, and bends over to his side table for a bottle of lube.

Jaskier pulls off his own pants and underwear, and returns to straddle Geralt’s thighs, and wastes no time in slicking up his fingers.

“Jaskier, let me—”

“No.”

“Please—”

“Geralt,” and he shudders at the warning in Jaskier’s voice. “Be _good_.”

Geralt closes his mouth and settles back into the bed. He watches silently as Jaskier runs a finger over his hole, then presses in with a soft inhale.

It’s not long before Jaskier adds a second finger and begins to fuck himself in earnest, fingers pistoning in-and-out, eyes anchored on Geralt’s face.

Geralt watches helplessly as Jaskier’s cock begins to drip onto his stomach.

Jaskier adds a third finger, letting out a low curse.

When they’ve done this before, this part had always been rushed, pushed through in favor of getting to the main act. Now, Jaskier doesn’t hesitate to take his time, seemingly unhurried by Geralt gasping desperately beneath him.

Geralt can’t help the image that appears in his mind, of Jaskier pleasing himself like this when alone, fingers pistoning hard and fast and deep into his own hole, then slowing to press firmly inside of him, making him moan loudly.

Geralt can see the way Jaskier is scissoring his fingers, head thrown back with another low noise, reveling in the stretch.

Jaskier takes Geralt in hand, then, stroking him in time with his own fingers pulsing in and out, eyes never once looking away from where Geralt is helplessly watching.

“Are you ready?” Jaskier’s voice is surprisingly soft.

Geralt nods.

Jaskier lines them up, before pressing himself slowly down onto Geralt’s cock, taking inch after inch, heedless of Geralt’s pleading gasps.

When he’s reached the bottom, ass firmly seated on Geralt’s lap, Jaskier closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh.

“Fuck, Geralt, you have an amazing cock.” Jaskier flicks open one eye to look at him. “Almost makes it worth having to deal with you the rest of the time.”

Geralt huffs, though it turns into a wordless moan when Jaskier clenches around him smugly.

Finally — finally — after an eternity of being teased and brought close to the edge only to be pulled away again, Jaskier begins to ride him.

They’ve never done it like this before. Usually, Jaskier is on his hands and knees, or splayed out beneath Geralt, or letting Geralt fuck his face while sucking Jaskier’s cock.

This is something new.

How had Geralt gone so long without the sight of Jaskier bouncing on his cock, ignoring everything but his own pleasure? The hand that isn’t pressed against Geralt’s stomach is stroking his cock slowly, twisting as it moves along his shaft.

As if feeling Geralt’s stare, Jaskier opens his eyes again to watch Geralt watching him.

Without slowing his pace, Jaskier runs a thumb over the head of his cock, collecting the drop of precum that has gathered there.

He leans forward, and presses his thumb against Geralt’s lips. Geralt opens his mouth obediently, and laps at Jaskier’s thumb.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispers, pressing down on Geralt’s tongue. “You’re gorgeous.”

Some small part of Geralt thinks he should respond to the compliment.

Most of him feels overwhelmed with the sensation of Jaskier’s thumb pressing in his mouth and the simple, gentle feeling in him that just _relaxes_ at the touch.

It’s shockingly easy, letting Jaskier have this. Have him like this.

Feels really, really nice, awareness limited to the slip-and-slide of Jaskier riding his cock, of the press of his fingers in his mouth.

Geralt loses track of time, just watching Jaskier use his cock to pleasure himself, whispering reassurances of, “You’re being so good for me, Geralt” and “Feel amazing in me, love being stretched on your cock like this.”

Geralt feels like he’s been approaching his orgasm ever since Jaskier had him in his mouth, but suddenly, Jaskier is stroking his own cock faster and tighter, fucking himself harder on Geralt’s cock.

“Geralt, I’m gonna cum—” he warns, which, yes, gods, please yes.

Jaskier seats himself on Geralt’s cock firmly, pressing it as far deep in him as he can with a low, “Fuuuuuck,” and spills himself over Geralt’s stomach.

It takes a minute for Jaskier to catch his breath. Geralt just waits quietly, throbbing, inside of him.

“Alright,” says Jaskier at last. “I suppose you’ve earned an orgasm now.”

Jaskier begins fucking himself again, harder then before, plunging Geralt’s cock in to unspeakable depths before pulling all the way out.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you Geralt?”

Geralt barely manages a nod, distracted by the way Jaskier’s mouth is biting at his nipples, clever, clever fingers pressing into his mouth again, fucking him in time with Jaskier’s bouncing on his cock.

It’s barely a few moments before Geralt cums, hips finally bucking out of his control into Jaskier, pumping load after load into him.

Things white out after that, replaced with only the sensation of release and pleasure.

Geralt is distantly aware of Jaskier leaning down to press their chests together, heedless of the mess on Geralt’s stomach. Jaskier presses gentle kisses to his lips, wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck, and sits with Geralt inside of him.

Minutes pass before Geralt wakes enough to absently pull his arms around the man on top of him, holding him close, pressing a nose into his hair.

It’s a wonderful and warm and soft feeling, even after Jaskier slowly pulls himself off.

When Jaskier turns them over, pulling Geralt into his chest, he can hardly be blamed for letting himself drift into a light sleep.

_______

When Geralt awakes, Jaskier’s forehead is pressed against Geralt’s back, arm draped over his torso, thumb running soft circles along Geralt’s stomach. His stomach has been wiped clean. Geralt’s fingers are intertwined with Jaskier’s. He squeezes their joined hands.

Jaskier hums in acknowledgement, not pausing his ministrations.

After being without Jaskier’s familiar touch for a week, it’s unspeakably nice.

Eventually, Geralt rolls himself onto his back with a sigh, letting Jaskier tuck himself against his side.

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” Jaskier says eventually into his shoulder.

“I know.”

“You can’t keep lashing out at me whenever things are going to shit in other parts of your life. It sucks.”

“I know.”

Jaskier lifts his head, pins Geralt with a serious look in his blue, blue eyes.

Fuck, Geralt missed him.

“Do you? Because, _gods_ , Geralt, you know you’re my best friend and I would do anything for you, but you can’t keep hurting me and expecting me to just take it.”

“I know, I— I’ve been—” Fuck, this is harder than he’d thought.

He looks away from where Jaskier is watching him patiently. Jaskier squeezes their still joined hands.

Geralt takes a deep breath.

“Triss thinks I should talk to someone.” Triss has actually been telling Geralt he needs to be in therapy for the entire three years he’s known her. “About how I— push away the people I care about.”

“Oh, you care about me, do you?” Jaskier is teasing him, but Geralt knows him well enough to hear the quiet bite of doubt beneath.

It makes something in Geralt _ache_.

“Jaskier, you’re my best friend. You’re _the_ person I care about.” Geralt looks at him helplessly. “I know we haven’t— we don’t talk about what exactly it is between us, but. You have to know I love you.”

Jaskier is silent for half a second longer, before he deflates with a loud exhale. He curls back into Geralt’s side, pressing his face into his neck.

“It’s so hard to stay mad at you,” he mumbles into Geralt’s skin. “This week was shit.”

Geralt snorts at that.

“Though, I’ve gotten a lot of good material out of it. You missed the other three songs I wrote about you and how much you’re the worst.”

Geralt pulls Jaskier in closer, and presses a firm kiss to his hair.

“Plenty of time to hear them later.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [All The Same](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QdFOemP1dR0) by Sick Puppies, which is also the song I imagined Jaskier singing at the bar since it's appropriately angsty and dramatic  
> Thank you for reading and I would be so eternally grateful for any comments and especially constructive criticisms!!!!!  
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://guitarshark.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk about soft Dom Jaskier


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